


as long as we keep spinning

by orphan_account



Category: Rocketman (2019), Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Drinking, Drunkenness, I am terrible at tagging, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Porn, Praise Kink, handjob, this took an entire month to write, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "You better not be jerking off while talking to me, Taron.”Taron pauses amusedly, lips quirked as he braces his hand against his shorts. “Would you be bothered if I was?”There’s the sound of a car door shutting and then there’s more silence from Richard’s end. “I’ll only be bothered if you don’t give me a good show, love.”or, drunken antics.





	as long as we keep spinning

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting on my laptop for a good month and i've finally posted it lol - hope you enjoy
> 
> title is from suspirium by thom yorke - my current favourite song :)
> 
> p.s. tonje you better be grateful ma'am

Richard rings him late while Taron’s half asleep on the sofa, idly browsing through channels on the TV. Two cans of beer lie empty on the table and his eyes languidly drift over them. Guilt settles in his stomach as he remembers he’d also had a few too many glasses of wine at the premiere too. He’d been giggly and too excited, clinging to Richard’s side like an eager puppy. Taron had flirted with _everyone_ both inside and outside of the barrier in his exhilarated oblivion.

“That you, Rich?” Taron says with a smile, sinking into the sofa. There’s noise from the other line and Taron guesses that Richard’s still at the premiere, drinking and laughing with the rest of the cast and crew.

“So you picked up on the tenth ring,” Richard says. “Been looking for you everywhere.”

Taron picks up a third can of beer and cracks it open with a wince. “Went home before I could get more wine drunk.”

“Seems you’re enjoying yourself though,” Richard says as a response to the crack of the can, words slurring a little. Knowing Richard’s inability to turn down a free drink, it’s unsurprising that he’s inebriated.

Taron laughs at this. “You’ve had a few then?” 

There’s background laughter from Richard’s end and the sound of wine glasses clinking together. “Mhm,” says the older man in his deep brogue. “You looked happy in your jacket tonight.”

Taron’s head shoots up so he can eye the jacket that’s slung over the top of the sofa. Blue and adorned with patchwork, he’d felt as powerful as Elton at that moment, and he’d enjoyed wearing it because he felt truly powerful. His eyes flicker back to his hand where his beer is. “Was comfy,” he says simply, taking a swig of beer. 

It’s quieter from Richard’s end, and the younger man guesses he’s entered a quieter part of the building or he’s snuck out for a cigarette like he does when he wants to avoid social situations.

“You’re not smoking, are you, Rich?” Taron teases, lips against his can of beer. “You’re in for it if you are.”

“Wouldn’t dare, darling.” Richard slurs with a smile in his voice. “You know I’m quitting.”

Taron wouldn’t put it past him. Get Richard tipsy enough and any rational thoughts go out of the window. “Alright. I believe you.” _He doesn't._

“What’re you doing, anyway?” Richard laughs after a few seconds. “Apart from the beer.”

Taron lets out a smothered giggle at this, putting the can down on the coffee table with a resonant clunk. “Watching porn.”

Richard laughs from his end, and the tinny laughter brings warmth into Taron’s chest for a few moments before he realises he looks stupid, blushing over some stupid conversation with his mate. “What kind?” 

“Not telling,” Taron replies childishly, staring at the TV screen where Richard’s face is paused at the perfect time, handsome features prominent and in high definition. “It’s good though.”

“You better not be jerking off while talking to me, Taron.” 

Taron pauses amusedly, lips quirked as he braces his hand against his shorts. “Would you be bothered if I was?”

There’s the sound of a car door shutting and then there’s more silence from Richard’s end. “I’ll only be bothered if you don’t give me a good show, love.”

Taron freezes, heart racing like a sixteen-year-old boy before suddenly, drunken arousal pools deep inside of him, dark like black treacle. His breath hitches in his throat. How dare Richard affect him like this. “A- a good show?”

“You know what I mean,” Richard says lowly, accent thick in his ear. “Are you still wearing your suit?”

Taron leans back so he’s sprawled over his sofa pathetically, Richard’s face still looming on his screen like he’s judging him for being such a pathetic little drunk - on his own after a premiere. “N-no,” he mumbles. “Jus’ a pair of shorts.”

“Hm,” Richard replies. “And do they show your lovely thighs?”

Taron inhales sharply at this, looking down to where his shorts ride up to just show the meat of his thighs. _God_. _He looks like a slut, just lying there in shorts._ “Yes,” The younger man whispers, hand slipping down to the waistband of his shorts. Richard lets out a deep sound of approval at this, chuckling lightly afterwards.

“You know you've got the nicest thighs,” Richard’s murmuring, slur prominent in his voice. “You don’t know how fucking bad I want to leave marks all over them so people know how lovely they are.”

“ _Rich,_ ” Taron breathes in a strangled voice. He’s _so_ hard. “You’re drunk - you don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” Richard teases. “Everyone loves your thighs, Taron. This isn’t new information.”

Breathing heavily, the younger man takes a hold of himself, and he’s so sensitive that he cries out. “ _Fuck, Rich,”_ he hisses into the sofa cushions. He hates Richard for being so handsome and dominating that it’s impossible for him to jerk off without thinking about him. Taron’s face is pink as he thinks of Richard’s big hand circling around his cock; Richard’s lips close to his ear. His head falls back against the sofa cushions with a whine.

“That’s it,” Richard says lowly. “Such a good boy, aren’t you, Taron?” 

Taron whines at this, hand tightening around his cock as the older man’s voice rumbles in his ear. 

“Only for you.”

“Are you walking to my apartment?” Taron adds, panting hard. “I need…”

Richard chuckles, deep and authoritarian. “Yes, love.”

Taron swallows, imagining Richard walking through the door and straight over to where he’s spread out on the sofa, legs spread and cock hard between his legs. “I need it,” he gasps, arousal circling in his gut as he listens to Richard’s footsteps through the phone’s tinny speaker.

“I’ll be there soon, T,” The older man murmurs. “Just got out the car.”

Only three and a half minutes have gone by when there’s a sharp and hasty knock on his front door, and Taron’s barely inhaled before he’s answered. “It’s open.” His voice sounds wrecked already, and humiliation floods through his bones as the glass door slides open. Richard’s not visible over the high arm of his sofa, but he can hear the heaviness of his dress shoes against the lino in the kitchen as he walks closer.

Heart racing, Taron’s hand stalls on his cock for a few seconds as Richard walks around the arm of the sofa. The younger man inhales sharply as he comes into his vision, hair mussed obscenely from the wind and eyes astoundingly blue against his dark suit. 

Taron’s lower lip trembles with want. “ _Please_ ,” he whispers pathetically. Richard eyes him hungrily for a few seconds before the sofa dips and his warmth envelops him. Taron, shorts resting at his thighs, feels exposed and naked compared to how _dressed up_ and _handsome_ Richard looks, even with that drunken want in his eyes.

“Is that me?” Richard slurs, squinting at the TV screen where his face is painfully poised. Taron decides that the real deal is ten times better. The younger man nods, biting swollen cherry lips. Richard looks back to him for a second before he’s impulsively leaning into Taron’s space and cupping the side of his face so he meets his strong gaze. They’re pitifully far apart and Taron leans up so their lips ghost together, the faint brush of mouths barely existent. 

The reminiscence floods back to him of how Richard’s lips crushed against his own during the filming of the love scene last year - how the older man had held him like he was fragile and precious. It was part of John Reid’s manipulating character, but Taron remembers how he chased after every kiss Richard gave him as if it was genuine. As if Richard wasn’t acting. 

But now Richard couldn’t be acting - they were in the safety of Taron’s warm living room, all of his belongings were there - arranged how he’d wanted them when he first moved in. Richard could only be this close to him if he wanted it too. Taron’s brain overflows with incoherent drunken thoughts. 

Richard brings him back to consciousness as he finalises the kiss, hazily pressing his lips into Taron’s like a crescendo, hand sliding from his jaw down to his neck to twine lazily with the shorter hairs at the nape. Taron makes a small sound of pleading as he kisses back with unadulterated greed.

“So pretty,” Richard mumbles as they break apart fleetingly for air. Taron can’t help but feel small and delicate as the older man pulls him onto his lap in one movement, almost as if Taron weighs nothing at all. 

“ _Richard,_ ” Taron begs, voice thick in his throat. “ _Please_.”

His co-star answers silently by wrapping his hand around Taron’s cock in one smooth motion and beginning to stroke him languidly as he reaches up to leave a warm kiss under his ear. “Like this?”

Taron’s always noticed Richard has a large pair of hands; big masculine palms and long fingers which are often embezzled with heavy rings. He’s watched them grip around many things, like beer bottles and Golden Globes, but the sight of Richard’s hand around his cock has to be the final straw. “God, _Rich,_ you're gonna make me come so fast.”

“Yeah?” Richard murmurs in his ear. “You’re so needy.”

Taron flushes a furious red, leaning up to press their lips together once more as if it’s the last time, greedily chasing for more as Richard chuckles lowly. “ _Please,_ Richard, I’m so…” 

The older man slides a hand around his waist so he’s pushed further into Richard’s broad chest, whining as insistent hickeys are pressed against his milky neck. Taron lets his head loll, barely coherent as Richard’s attention is suddenly drawn to his thighs, hands gently wrapping around the smooth skin. “You’re so soft and pretty, T,” Richard says. “Everything about you.”

Then he’s leaning down to ghost his lips against the sensitive inner-skin of Taron’s thighs, pressing gentle kisses along each one like he’s precious, a painting in a gallery that’s worth hundreds of thousands. Richard’s arm, previously tight around the younger man’s middle, escapes, sliding to the small of his back, nearing the curve of his arse. Taron whines at this, high and needy.

“I’m close,” Taron manages as the older man brings his hand back around his feverish cock. “ _Please, Rich_.” His mouth falls open and his eyes flutter shut as the deep arousal pooling inside him seems to curl up into a pleasure-laced peak that jabs against him again and again as he whimpers.

“Good boy,” Richard says in no less than a deep rumble, hand raking through Taron’s hair and gripping the back of his head. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Richard’s barely finished his sentence before Taron’s reaching the pinnacle of his orgasm, back arching up as the older man swipes a thumb over the tip of his cock. A high throaty noise escapes him as he comes all over his stomach and Richard’s hand. His breath is still laboured in its upper octave and his eyes are squeezed shut, eyelashes fluttering. Taron’s in his head like this for a good few seconds before he's brought back to reality by the post-orgasm weakness overcoming him like a sigh, by Richard’s hand tentatively pressing against his neck in hesitance. He cracks open his eyes once his breathing becomes steady and flops back against the sofa cushions in defeat.

_Fuck,_ Taron says in his head.

 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed :)


End file.
